The spirit of the "Messiah" penetrated their hearts, and helped to exorcise the sullen disposition towards anything approaching art that had become so characteristic of them.
Splendid as was the result of Handel's work not only in England but the world over, it must be admitted that the immediate effect on the English musician was disastrous.
He had long found it difficult to hold his own against foreign competition, with the influence of the Court continuously exercised in its favour, but this overwhelming display of genius in a field in which he had hitherto regarded himself as unassailable in his own country, seemed to be the one thing wanting to complete his discomforture and bring about his abdication.
This accomplished, it is unnecessary to insist upon the humiliations that were in store for him during, the next hundred years. Suffice it to say that the ascendency of the foreigner was complete, and was exercised with an intolerance of native effort that seems inconceivable to us to-day. Not only did he occupy the principal official posts, but nearly every other of importance outside the Church, and even the festivals, which were, in most cases, originally organised in connection with one or other of the cathedrals, before long came under his sway.
To cite two examples, those of Birmingham and Norwich. The former has been conducted for over forty years, since the period of its inception, by Costa and Dr. Richter; whilst the latter has been directed for over half a century by musicians who were not only not Englishmen, but not even Christians. This grotesque situation was put an end to as recently as 1908, when Sir Henry Wood was appointed. This ascendency, encouraged by the wealthy classes and contemptuously ignored by the general public, could but have a withering effect on native talent, and its parasitical influence undoubtedly hastened the decay of the once flourishing tree of English music. Handel had many successors here, but no equals. However, so numbed had English musicians become, that nearly any foreigner with sufficient advertising ingenuity, could inspire them with a sense not far removed from awe.
For instance, without wishing to be unjust to such claims on posterity as Spohr may have, we may well express astonishment at the great influence he undoubtedly wielded whilst living in London. His great ability as a performer on the violin, together with his skill as a writer for the instrument, first brought him prominently into publicity, but it was the production of his oratorio, "The Last Judgment," that made him a power in the land.
What chiefly contributed to the fascination his music exercised was a new feature in it that appealed to natures the stern sublimity of Handel's could not touch. This consisted of a dexterous use of chromatic harmony, combined with melody of ballad-like simplicity, which was well calculated to please the untutored ear. Even so robust a personality as Samuel Sebastian Wesley temporarily fell under the spell, though not for long, and afterwards, as if it were an act of expiation, wrote a Church service in which he reverted to the style of Orlando Gibbons. Spohr, however, was a genius, if not of an exalted order, but what are we to say when we take into consideration the position attained to by Costa in this country?
Surely English musical intelligence must have reached its nadir.
He was allowed for thirty years to exercise absolute sway over the festivals at Birmingham, and there produced, with every accessory of pomp and circumstance, his oratorios, "Eli" and "Naaman," works in which you may seek for and fail to find a redeeming feature. Commonplace in idea, blatant in orchestration, theatrical in melody and primitive in contrapuntal effort, these things were, nevertheless, by the artifice of unscrupulous puffing, foisted upon the public as works of genius.
Yet at this very time there was living an English writer of great endowment, lofty character and true genius, whose music was comparatively neglected. Without making extravagant claims for Sterndale Bennett, it may be said, without hesitation, that his cantata, "The Woman of Samaria," contains music with which nothing that Costa and many others similarly exploited, wrote, could for a moment compare. To what extent indifference to English music and musicians was carried may be illustrated by the fact that he was suffered to submit on an occasion to the insult of Costa's refusal to conduct one of his compositions, and this, without redress!
The day is coming when English composers will have to endure as much adulation as their predecessors did neglect. When that day arrives I hope they will show some consideration for the memory of William Sterndale Bennett. It was with sincere pleasure that many observed the inclusion of one of his overtures on the historic occasion of the production at the Queen's Hall in London of Sir Edward Elgar's first violin concerto.
This was a tribute payed to him by his greatest successor, and was worthy of the man who did it and the occasion which prompted it. Enough has been said to shew how complete foreign supremacy had become. Its days are now numbered, it is true, but the effect remains.
It is idle to suppose that the work of a few men, however gifted they may be, can undo in a decade what has taken two hundred years to accomplish. Only by patience and sustained effort in the direction of making students endeavour to think English music rather than German, can any national character be developed.
This can be done by English masters only. It is evident that there is a spirit of revolt abroad against the position as it stands to-day. That a nation with four or five hundred years' musical history behind it should yet be in foreign leading-strings is as absurd as it is uncalled for, and national respect alone should insist on its suppression.
English musicians have recently shewn in manner absolutely convincing, that they can hold their own in any department of music, either as creators or exponents.
The north of England and the Midlands teem with men erudite and enthusiastic.
In Manchester, Sheffield, Birmingham and other towns they are ever in evidence, and it is mainly from these parts of England that the most striking of recent developments have come, and which give the greatest hope for the future. The fascination of a capital city and the apparently limitless opportunities for advancement naturally attract the consciously gifted young musician. He expects to be greeted on arrival with sympathy and encouragement, at least by people of his own race. He probably knows something of the history of music in London, but even that does not stay him.
His first experience is one of disillusion. He finds himself in an atmosphere of cosmopolitanism where the dominating influences are largely foreign, and if he enters one of the principal schools, he finds himself in a centre whence those influences largely radiate. If he elects to stay there, he will eventually emerge from it as an added unit to that vast army of foreign-taught Englishmen whose work has hitherto proved so abortive.
I would like to say here that there is not the least intention to cast reflections on the capabilities of these foreign teachers. Indeed, it would be a work of supererogation to insist upon the individual excellencies of many of them.
What words, for instance, could adequately portray the work of such men as Oscar Beringer or Johannes Wolff? to mention only two of them.
But that is beside the point.
What we have to consider is the wisdom or unwisdom of continuing a system that has obtained for a hundred years or so, and is still encouraged by the leading authorities. We may assume, or we ought to be able to assume, that what gave rise to it was a dearth of sufficiently competent Englishmen, and that the mission entrusted to the foreigner was to train the students up to his own high standard. Well, has he succeeded after his hundred years' trial? It is evident that in the opinion of these authorities he has not, else, why should Herr this be made to succeed Herr that, and Signor this, Signor that, with such monotonous regularity?
How much longer then is it intended to continue on these lines? If there are still no native musicians fit to hold these important posts (and this in the days of Elgar!), what a commentary on the system!
Such an idea, however, is altogether untenable. There is not the slightest doubt that there are numbers of them fully capable of sustaining the prestige of any institution, were once the chance accorded them. One can only suppose that internal jealousies and foreign-acquired predilections are responsible for what seems such an insensate policy.
There is another point of view that deserves consideration.
Let it be remembered that by all the resources of the latest developments of advertising, these schools attract thousands of pupils from all parts of the kingdom, thus feeding the already congested state of the musical profession, and yet at the same time, bolting and barring the door against their eventually succeeding to these foreign-held posts, however great their claims to them or their fitness to fulfil the duties attached to them may be.
It is like addressing the English student thus: "Yes. It is true you have paid your fees for five years, during two of which we have availed ourselves of your services as an unpaid teacher, thus acknowledging your capabilities, but we are sorry to be unable to give you the post you seek as it is reserved for that inestimable artist Signor – , who is so unaccountably neglected in his own country."
Thus the game goes on and, I suppose, will go on until the pressure of public opinion or the determination of the native students forces a change. The specious argument that the demand justifies the means may be and probably is adduced. To this, I say that what is applicable to one who has lived long in the country and justified his position, is totally inapplicable to another who is brought here although absolutely unknown.
Now, there cannot possibly be a demand for an unknown quantity. What I would urge is that upon the honourable retirement of the foreign master, an Englishman should be appointed in his place, and be given a chance equal to that of his predecessor in the quality of the students placed under him.
Of the average foreign musician scattered broadcast over the country, it may be said that if he has done no particular good, he has done no particular harm, except in a collectivist sense. This, however, cannot be said of at least one of the most successful of them.
To Sir Michael Costa is due the official adoption of the high pitch, and what that conveys can only be properly appreciated by the trained musician. The British Government, finding themselves under the necessity of supplying instruments for the Army bands, and being informed that these must be tuned alike to a definite pitch – a question to them, probably, of the "tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee" order – characteristically called in a foreigner to advise them on the subject, doubtless thinking he would be the most competent to whom they could appeal.
It may be casually mentioned that among the prominent British musicians at this period, were such men as Sir Sterndale Bennett, Sir George Macfarren, and Sir John Goss.
Now, it is universally recognised that an accurate sense of pitch is of the highest importance to the musician, and seeing that many of the most prominent singers – among them Sims Reeves – refused to sing to it, and some of the leading conductors declined to use it, the confusion that has resulted may be easily realised. Its adoption, however, by the Italian Opera and Philharmonic Society in London, the Birmingham Festival, and all the other institutions where Costa's influence was paramount, brought it into general use, and until quite recently, it has so remained.
Yet the protests against it were never silenced, and, constantly increasing in volume, resulted in its abandonment by one after the other of the leading orchestras in the country,21 thus isolating the numerous choral societies in the provinces, who are necessitated to seek the aid of military band players to supplement the local ones in forming a band for their performances, and are forced accordingly to continue its use.
The effects of this discordance have been, and continue to be positively incalculable.
Happily for England there are few men who have had similar opportunities for doing mischief; he has had imitators, it is true, but none possessed of his talent or force of character.
Indeed, it may be said that he has had few equals among foreign resident musicians, the majority of whom are men of just average ability, who have made such reputations as they possess in this country, and are, in most cases, quite unknown in their own, except perhaps in the immediate neighbourhood of their birthplaces.22
In order to explain their presence in thousands, it will be necessary to touch on a subject that cannot be altogether avoided. I do not think, for a moment, that English opinion on the relative merits of the native and foreign musician as teacher is so decidedly in favour of the latter as figures would suggest. I look, rather, in other directions for a solution of the problem.
In the first place, I cannot but think that internal differences, rivalries and jealousies among prominent British musicians have afforded opportunities that he has not been slow to take advantage of. It would not be difficult to refer to many remarkable appointments of foreign masters that one could only explain on these grounds, so utterly unjustifiable do they seem.
Again, in the art of advertisement which appears so essential to-day, there can be no question that Englishmen are not a match for the foreigner, who uses it with surprising effect on the unsuspecting public. It is certainly one of the secrets of the astounding position they have gained in musical education in this country.
If one may compare teaching with public performance, the point becomes clearer.
Whilst recognising with frankness and spontaneity the genius of such giants as Hallé, Joachim, Piatti, Norman Neruda, Pachmann, Kreisler, and Paderewski, I absolutely fail to see equal merit in the many foreign artists who are so extravagantly advertised at the present time. It seems to me that in many cases the agent displays more skill in his art than the artist advertised.
One may surely be permitted, without being invidious, to contrast the performances of an Englishman like Mr. W. H. Squire with those of such exponents of their respective schools as Señor Casals and M. Gerardy, and express a preference for the northern virility and dignity of the Englishman.
Granted that many foreign artists who appear here display great ability, there are many more who do nothing of the kind, and the day should be past when every alien musician endowed with long hair and a pallid complexion is to be accepted by the British public as the highest type of musical genius. This delusion has lasted long enough.
Had England shown herself barren in producing sons possessing great musical gifts, the position to-day would at least be explicable, but this is not the case. There has been no time in the centuries since Purcell's death destitute of some living representative of the old English genius, although, perhaps, living in the comparative obscurity of a cathedral town, and far removed from the garish lights of the Metropolis.
Certain it is that of native composers who have shown any English characteristics in their music, the majority of them have been reared in our cathedral cities, and have imbibed their earliest impressions in cathedral choirs.
To go no further back than the Wesleys, Samuel and his son, Samuel Sebastian, we need only cite a few of them: Atwood, Pierson, Goss, Sterndale Bennett, Arthur Sullivan, Sir Frederick Bridge, Sir Walter Parratt – and crowds of others, both living and dead.
Removed from the centralised cosmopolitanism of London, many of them had a chance of giving expression to their thoughts in music not characterised by foreign idiom.
If the fine work of such men as Hubert Parry, Edward Elgar, Granville Bantock, Walford Davies, William Wallace, Joseph Holbrook, and others of the new British school does not convince the country of the fatuity of perpetuating the state of things existing at present, nothing will, and we must accept the fact that the idea of foreign supremacy in every branch of musical work, is so engrained in the blood of the "man in the street" as to be absolutely ineradicable.
But I do not believe it.
One hardly dares to question the sanity of a nation, even on so elusive a subject as music.
To-day, even, we can see the Dawn: the Penumbra is vanishing.
Not long ago it was considered essential that a singer of any exceptional merit should go to Italy to "finish" – or be finished, as the case might be. Not only so, but it was often thought necessary to Italianise the Anglo-Saxon name, and this was occasionally done with grotesque result!
In some cases the possessor of so characteristic a name, say, as Smith (Miss Smith might be a "discovery" by some knowing person and promptly packed off to the "land of song") – after a stay of a year or two in Italy, emerges from that country, having adopted, with a profound sense of the genius of Latin languages, the name of Smith-ona.
The fact that such great singers as Sims Reeves and Charles Santley went to Italy and achieved great success there, has, no doubt, been a fruitful source of attraction to the country; but of the many thousands who have followed their example, how many have returned with the least promise of emulating in ever so faint a degree their illustrious careers?
No Englishmen, assuredly.
A few years ago I had the pleasure to spend a day in the company of that great singer, the late Signor Tamagno.
In the course of conversation he expressed the opinion that the old school of Italian singing which had produced so many artists of such extraordinary merit, was practically dead, and that he was the only living exponent to carry on its traditions. As he was speaking in French, I give his actual words in a foot-note.23
Without venturing to subscribe to such a pronouncement, I think it is worth while recording. Whilst admitting that Italy occasionally produces singers that electrify the world, such as Madame Tettrazzini and Signor Caruso, I think that a little consideration will convince anyone that the majority of great singers in modern times has emanated from the northern races.24
In a memorable address given recently by Madame Melba to the students of the Guildhall School of Music, on which occasion I was fortunate enough to be present, that great singer insisted on the importance of diction, and expressed the opinion that in this respect young English singers had much to learn. One is obliged to recognise the justice of the rebuke, but I think that, at least, a partial explanation may be ventured.
In illustration Madame Melba instanced many words that were constantly maltreated, and among them was that of love.
This irresistibly brought to my mind an incident that occurred many years ago. When I was, as a boy, acting as accompanist in the studio of a celebrated foreign singing master, an English lady was having a lesson and was singing an English song in which she had to articulate this very word. Suddenly there came a clapping of hands and a voice called out, "No, no, dat will not do. Ze word is – " and I give the pronunciation as nearly as letters will permit – "'loaf.'"
As soon as the lady had gone and we were left alone, I said, "But, maestro, that lady sang the word as it is pronounced in English." The retort came instantly: "Dat is so? Den it ought to be as I say it."
This aspersion on the intellectual intelligence of the Anglo-Saxon race struck me as decidedly amusing.
On a quite different occasion I was present at a function in the course of which another foreign singing master was called upon to make a speech. I was, it is true, seated at a considerable distance from him, could not see him, and had not the slightest idea who he was. After listening carefully for some time, I turned to my table companion and said, "Could you tell me who is speaking, and what the language is?" He shrugged his shoulders and replied: "Upon my word I can't." We afterwards learnt that the language spoken was – English!
I think that the most unsophisticated of my readers, if I have any, will be able to draw his own deductions.
It is at least reasonable to ask why the more virile northerner should subjugate his personality and national characteristics to those of a southern race of different climate, different morals, and different physique. Let us consider for a moment the sister art of painting.
It is quite unnecessary to extol the glories of the British school.
Can you possibly imagine Turner, Hogarth, Gainsborough and Reynolds sitting down and quietly acquiescing, when a set of foreign painters came over to England and addressed them in such terms as these: "You English have lost, if you ever possessed it, the art of painting. We are going to stay over here and shew that we are your superiors, and you will have to submit quietly while we are taking time to do it?"
I, at least, would not like to have been a member of that deputation in case Turner and Hogarth were present. Yet this is not an unfair illustration of what English musicians have submitted to.
Let us see what Mendelssohn thought on the subject.
In a letter to Edward Devrient, dated Milan, July 13, 1831, he writes:
"You can have no conception of an Italian chorus. As I was supposed to be in the land of music, I thought I would try and recognise one good voice among it, but they are all vile and roar like quacks at a fair… No German can have an idea of what it is here – that is to say, no real German; for such a one as I met here is as much a real German as cheese and beer.
"Fancy, Devrient, the fellow's expenses are paid for two years by the Ministry, in order that he may study Italian music, and on his return teach the Italian method of singing…
"Alas, you have no conception of these horrors… The great fault is seeking to Italianise themselves, whilst what our northern nature has given them is the best and only good they have."
Enough of the subject.
Let us simply recall again the words of Sir Edward Elgar, spoken at Birmingham: "To draw their inspiration from their own country, their own literature and their own climate. Only by doing so could they arrive at an English art."
CONCLUSION
Everything points to the fact that in all branches of musical art, the time has come when England should work out her own salvation.
The result of a hundred and fifty years of foreign tutelage is not one of which any nation need be proud.